


The Dying of the Light

by stardustedknuckles



Series: Tumblr Prompt Flash Fics [4]
Category: Critical Role (Web Series)
Genre: Canon Typical Violence, Cross-Posted on Tumblr, F/F, Flash Fic, Tumblr Prompt, beau goes down and yasha gets a little berserk about it, trent's just here to get dead, you know how it goes
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2021-03-10
Updated: 2021-03-10
Packaged: 2021-03-16 18:21:33
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 786
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/29954019
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/stardustedknuckles/pseuds/stardustedknuckles
Summary: Rage, rage...but not for yourself.From the prompt meme:"when one of them is hurt by the antagonist… and their lover goes… absolutely ballistic" (there was more to it, but in typical fashion I went off-course a bit - this was the gist.)Stuff added before posting here.
Relationships: Beauregard Lionett/Yasha
Series: Tumblr Prompt Flash Fics [4]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/2094657
Comments: 8
Kudos: 214





	The Dying of the Light

**Author's Note:**

> Fuck him up, Yash.

They'd all known the risks of coming at Trent directly and accepted them. Each of them had been prepared for whatever happened next - whatever happened to _them_ , anyway.

Yasha realized too late that no part of her had been prepared for something happening to Beau.

Her rage in the time since tearing Obann wing from wing had been a controlled thing - concentrated will more than feral instinct. It had direction and intent, a kind of long reflex that extended from the urge to protect and draw the fire for everyone else.

But the pull of sheer and reckless power was always there, an inexorable force she wrangled time and again into a balance that aided her. Rage that deep required supreme force of will to control, a will Yasha had not known herself capable of until it had been returned to her.

All hope of restraint had evaporated with the quiet thud Beau's body made as it hit the ground beside Trent Ikithon. 

The loathsome nightmare of a man wrinkled his nose as he daintily wiped blood - Beau's blood - he'd _hurt her_ \- on his robes. "So _messy_ ," he complained. 

They were his last words.

There were hands on her, Yasha realized several vicious strikes into her fury. Hands that meant to pull her back, to get her to see reason, to explain to her in a calm and rational manner that they would all be better suited with a plan, that having her go down too would be worse.

Yasha ignored them outright. She wasn't going anywhere - not death, not from this room. All that mattered was seeing this man dead by her blade. It had been hard enough to stay her hand in the wake of witnessing what his very presence did to Caleb, and watching him toss Beau's limp body aside like so much trash snapped something inside of her. She would snap him in return if it was the last thing she did.

In the end, it wasn't - he was infuriatingly easy to finish off. All of this fear, all of the political game playing, and he'd gone down like any other squishy mage who had long forgotten what it was to actually fight.

He'd tried something with her head, and that had cost him the seconds she'd needed. The spell had slid right off the sides of the blade that was her relentless fury and the physical blade in her hands had slid in turn right between his ribs.

It wasn't enough. Yasha wasn't nearly as satisfied as the bloodlust singing through her demanded. Her clothes and skin were torn and burned in a hundred places, but it meant nothing.

She wanted him alive again, to kill him over and over until the roar in her head and her heart subsided, but as long as Beau was lying broken and bleeding on the ground, it never would.

"Yasha."

She'd had so many voices in her head, so many of them bad. That Beau should join them was no burden. She would hear that voice for as long as her mind would conjure it for her.

"Yasha, look at me."

The only voice that mattered, and Yasha realized suddenly that was coming from outside of her head - cutting through the fog. A hand on her arm, not to restrain but to alert. She turned in disbelief to find Beau, arm pressed against her side and wincing but trying to smile as she leaned on Jester for support. She couldn't be a ghost. Ghosts didn't keep bleeding, even slowly. 

"It's alright. You did it." Beau glanced at the thing that had once been Trent while Yasha's body and mind tried to process it all. "Bastard's gone, Yash." She grunted in pain as she stepped closer to look up at Yasha's face, and then those eyes were all Yasha could see. Blue and open and alive.

She reached up to touch Yasha's cheek, and she realized she was still snarling. Beau didn't waver. "You can come back now."

Yasha dimly heard the sound her sword made as it thumped wetly against blood and stone, and then her world was nothing but the heat of Beau's body pulled against her and the feel of her heartbeat on hers. "Ow," Beau said mildly, but her free arm came up to hug her in return.

"I didn't protect you." Yasha's voice hardly sounded like her own.

Beau shushed her gently. "It's not just you anymore, remember? Or just me." Yasha buried her nose in the crook of her neck as a sob broke from inside of her. "It's okay."

It wasn’t, but Beau was here and she was breathing and maybe, just maybe, it could be again soon.


End file.
